


Nature Trumps Nurture

by Winoniel



Category: Shadow of the Templar - M. Chandler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winoniel/pseuds/Winoniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Bran learns, being the recipient of Ethan's special training all of his life does not necessarily make him 'special,' it just makes him well-trained. Special belongs to something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nature Trumps Nurture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hpstrangelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpstrangelove/gifts).



> Thanks to the mods for all of their efforts and good will, and many thanks to DMB for the eleventh-hour beta. Could be dub-con, depending on how much you squint.

Nature Trumps Nurture

Bran expertly guided the car into the garage, and hunched his shoulders once he’d turned off the car. He’d just met with his fences—Margery, who dealt mainly with jewelry, and Geordie, a rather dodgy ‘art dealer’—and exchanged the goods from his last job for a nice 2600 pounds. He should be happy, eager to enjoy his ill-gotten gains, but his mind was already beginning to stutter shut in dread. He now almost regretted the ease with which he’d finished the whole transaction, and wished that he’d had to wait a few more days to meet with his fences. He knew that within a few days, Ethan would ask him what he was planning for his next job. And he’d have to do it all again. 

Sod it all, he hated himself sometimes. He was a thief for fuck’s sake! And he wasn’t half bad at it, so why did just the thought of the next job send spiders shivering up his spine? Why couldn’t he be always thinking about clever ways to ply his trade, like—

Grimacing, he entered the kitchen, and stopped short. As usual, Jeremy was waiting for him. No longer the eager, sweaty fifteen-year old who had waited for Bran after his first job, Jeremy was all sharp angles, and shiny hair, and slim muscles—Bran shook his head, slightly dazed.

“—so he told me to call him as soon as the car pulled in,” Jeremy was saying, Bran only then realizing he’d missed part of what the little snot had said.

A little disappointed that Ethan hadn’t been waiting for him, Bran snarled, “So what’re you here for, then?”

The little smile curled on and off Jeremy’s face. “Here, come on, then. How much did you get? What did Geordie say about the bronzes? I want the details!” He looked expectantly at Bran. “You’re getting good at this, so was the negotiating super easy for you? How much money did you get?”

Bran had to admit, the combination of admiration and covetousness was balm to his soul. His burglaries always sparked a mixed bag of emotions. Resentment at the plebian nature of his jobs—even though he shouldn’t feel that way, as he chose them himself—was only interrupted by periods of boredom at the lack of challenge, or leavened by bouts of panicked terror when things didn’t go to plan—which, if he had to be honest, happened more than he liked. And he always hated it when he later discovered that the stuff he’d lifted wasn’t valued as highly as he wanted. So Jeremy’s eagerness to hear the tales of Bran’s exploits gave him quite the feeling of satisfaction and self-importance.

Just then, Ethan came into the kitchen. Sitting down, Bran smiled, preparing to launch into his story.

~*~*~  
Jeremy excused himself, taking his teacup and plate over to the sink. As he left the kitchen, his glance at Bran was heavy and concentrated, promising. Feeling Ethan’s eyes on him, Bran looked away quickly, knotting his hands painfully under the table. He couldn’t stop the wave of heat that curled up his spine, and almost closed his eyes at the sensation of all the fine hairs on his body standing straight up.

Looking back at Ethan, Bran waited for the inevitable. What Ethan said when he spoke, though, was totally unexpected.

“You realize that Jeremy worships you, don’t you?” Ethan lifted his cup and gazed somberly at Bran over its edge.

Ah, God, did Ethan have to do this? Bran cast about for something to say, his mind vacant and terrified. “So?” His voice stuck between a snarl and a wail, he turtled his head down between his shoulders, mortally embarrassed.

“So—well, nothing, really,” Ethan said, his faint smile appearing briefly. “I just noticed how he hung on every word from the story of your meetings today with Margery and Geordie to sell your goods from your latest job. Now that he’s begun planning his own first really big job—”

Bran straightened so quickly he nearly tipped his teacup over. “What? You’re having me on! He’s only nineteen!”

“Yes, I know, but he’d been working incredibly hard and catching on so quickly that I thought to reward him by letting him plan a serious job. He’s actually done so well that I’ve been tempted to let him go through with it.”

Bran was dumbfounded. “What—how… but…” He was enraged, almost spitting in his fury. 

He should have known the little shit had done it again, stealing Bran’s thunder with his ingenious little plans! Jeremy was always coming up with clever new schemes, sometimes quieting a whole room of Ethan’s friends with the inventive ways he devised for lifting stuff or hiding loot. They treated him like a little mascot amongst their group, asking him questions and nodding sagely at his answers. Bran had even once heard Charles Fortescue tell Jeremy that he would be hired on the spot if he ever wanted to join Fortescue’s scouts. The man gave Bran the shivers and he’d never want to be in such close proximity for that length of time, but he couldn’t help the surge of envy and bitterness at what such an offer said about Jeremy’s already developing reputation. 

Ethan held up his hand. “As you have said innumerable times in the past, Jeremy is only now developing the ability he needs when it comes to stealth or knowledge of equipment. However, he is extremely quick-minded, and I do want to encourage and support that. 

“At any rate, I just wanted to let you know that Jeremy and I will be doing some travelling over the next few weeks, letting him see some of the properties that he’d come up with as prospective robberies. It’ll actually keep him out of your hair a bit, while you do your own planning.”

“Planning?” Bran asked, already beginning to hunch over in protection.

“For your next job,” Ethan said neutrally.

“Ah,” Bran said. 

“I’ve noticed that since your first job, you’ve exclusively employed the services of Charles to do your scouting.”

“Aye?” Bran asked warily.

Ethan nodded. “I believe that was wise, in that it allowed you to build up a bit of capital to fund your own projects. However, I now suggest—and mind you, it’s just a suggestion, as you’ve reached the age of majority and you are free to make your own choices—that you begin to branch out a bit.”

“Branch out a bit,” Bran echoed.

“Yes,” Ethan said. “I would like you to get experience with a lot of difference types of situations. While I feel in excellent shape for my age, I won’t be around forever. I would really like you to be able to ask for advice from someone you trust when you’re trying something new.”

“The fuck’s this, Ethan?” Bran’s face collapsed into a hunted expression, and he leaped up from his chair, unable to remain seated a moment more. It was only by the most serious restraint that he kept his hands from pulling at his hair in frustration. 

Why’d Ethan have to go on like this? It was embarrassing, and he wasn’t going anywhere—he was healthy as a farm of horses. Just trying to picture life without Ethan made Bran’s brain wheel about madly, dodging the image that was too outrageous to be comprehended, particularly when just dropped into a conversation like that! 

Ethan held up a hand, saying, “I don’t believe that anything is going to happen to me anytime soon, but still—”

“Why’d you bang on and bring it up then?” Bran knew he was whining, could hear the thin, reedy sound of his voice, but couldn’t stop. “Look, I think I’d like to go into town and have a drink at the pub.”

He knew that he was behaving poorly, and if he hadn’t been so embarrassed and angry and uncertain he would apologize. As it was, he saw Ethan sigh, and if possible, Bran’s hackles rose higher. 

“What?” He demanded, his voice high and tight. 

Ethan gazed at him with considering, reserved eyes. “I have asked you on a number of occasions if you are happy in this business.”

“Aye,” Bran answered, confused at the conversational detour.

“Well, a part of the business is the danger inherent in what we do. Much of it is ameliorated by keeping our acquaintances to those who are in the business and keeping our contacts with others brief and efficient. It is one of the sacrifices we make to maintain a low profile.”

“So?” Bran was now seeing where this was heading, and was growing even angrier.

“So, going out to a pub that is close to where you live, drinking when you are emotional, and taking the risk of sharing delicate information is not in your best interests.”

“I don’t care! You and Jeremy may fucking live for the work, but there is more to life than the business. Maybe I want to get out and see some of it. Maybe I don’t want to just hang around this place like you and Jeremy!” Bran knew he was being irrational, but he just needed to get away before he said something even more ridiculous.  
~*~*~*~ 

In the end, Bran didn’t go to the pub. He just drove into town and parked across from the pub. Through the windows, he could see a lively crowd being served by a barmaid. Turning in his seat until he could rest the side of his forehead against the headrest, he gazed at the pretty young thing. 

He fantasized what it would be like to have a wife—say, like the pretty barmaid, to own a small home together, to maybe have a couple of children and a late-model sedan. Curling in on himself at that angle, the very end of his elbow grazed his cock, which was already half-hard. Pressing down a bit, he imagined opening her blouse, and touching her quite impressive set of breasts. He tried to guess what her lips would feel like against his, and the sensation of her soft curls against his face.

Instead, he saw short brown hair flopping down over a sharper face filled with inquisitive eyes and a secretive smile. He cock filled quickly and abandoning his elbow, Bran pressed a hand against the tent in the front of his pants before he realized what he was doing. Moaning, he heard someone whisper, “Jeremy…”

Bran snapped up straight in his seat, stomach churning violently, hand frozen at his crotch. While he’d never liked what he and Jeremy did, he’d recognized that it satisfied a need for both of them. He’d lost count of the number of times that they’d look at each other at some point during the day, and find themselves later that evening grunting and jerking and rubbing in the dark. It was just a way of getting off that was both better, and worse, than wanking by oneself. But, he’d told himself that was all it was. 

Now, he knew that it was much, much more. It was a need, a craving, an obsession. It was also a mortal sin. The God who had slept during all of Bran’s many prayers, who had never answered any of them, who had thrown obstacles in Bran’s path at every opportunity, now awoke with a vengeance. What he and Jeremy had been doing was a sin, aye, but Bran thinking of Jeremy when he should have been thinking of a comely barmaid was a mortal sin. 

Breathing heavily—he wasn’t sobbing, he really wasn’t—Bran threw the car into gear while doing everything he possibly could to not think. For once, his brain cooperated, remaining preternaturally still and quiet during the entire ride back to the house.  
~*~*~*~ 

Remembering how miserable he’d been that afternoon when he first returned to the garage, Bran couldn’t bear the thought of going back in there for the second time that day. Leaving the car in the shelter of the roof overhang, he entered the house through the back door, bypassing several security measures with ease. 

He heard voices in the kitchen, and was scurrying away to avoid them when he heard Jeremy mutter his name. Turning back he sidled over to the door, just in time to hear another muffled exchange before Jeremy spoke clearly.

“I said, I wish that I could be your son, too, like Bran,” Jeremy said.

“Jeremy, you are as much my son as Bran is, you should know that by now. In fact, after watching your plans for houses with hidden-safes, I have to admit that you are a much better thief than I had been at nineteen.” Ethan’s smiling voice was filled with a pride that Bran had never felt directed at himself.

“Cor!” Bran could hear in that one word years of practice, sparring, and training all pouring out in a thick, choked sound of satisfaction.

Bran couldn’t remember what happened next. He either froze or stormed away. 

He couldn’t remember if he waited in Jeremy’s bedroom or stepped out into the hall after Jeremy had passed Bran’s door. 

He _did_ remember holding Jeremy’s wrists so tightly he could feel the little bones shifting in his grip. He remembered throwing several sharp, powerful blows at Jeremy’s ribcage but avoiding areas that held vital organs or were poorly protected. He couldn’t tell if he’d pushed Jeremy to the floor or if the boy had slithered down on his own. He remembered, however, holding the short brown hair tightly in his hands as he thrust his cock into that wet mouth and pulling the hair to maneuver Jeremy to his hands and knees.

He _did_ remember—and would remember until his dying day—pounding into the Jeremy’s incredibly warm arsehole, remember coming harder than he ever had, though he couldn’t remember if Jeremy himself came, or enjoyed it, or even felt—well, anything. 

He _did_ remember snarling something about the Cuckoo’s egg, and Jeremy finally getting the nest all to himself with Bran’s departure. 

He remembered shoving Jeremy’s strangely unmoving body away from himself when he was done. He remembered, or he might have only imagined the softly whispered, “G’bye, Irish…” as he walked out of the door.

He remembered going through the house that night, taking just under half of the tools, equipment, chemicals, and money. After all, it would have been his. 

He was Ethan’s son, but he was the one forced to leave. Instead, the interloper, who didn’t have half of Bran’s training and experience, was considered to be a better thief. Jeremy was special and Bran was just a trained, frightened, confused young man who only knew one way of life.

Bran choked on the memory of a slight smile and hair that lay all sleek and gleaming.

Jeremy was special. He was special _because_ he didn’t have half of Bran’s training and experience and he was the better thief.


End file.
